multiversallogs | (no subject)

Who: Allen Walker; OPEN
What: Getting lost.
Where: The Valhalla Inn, Mog Hill, outskirts of Bonetown.
When: ~~Thurs~~ Givdi afternoon.
Notes: Feel free to run into him at any of these locations♥
Warnings: Allen's crap sense of direction. Also, I am a slow tagger.

Ever since he was let out of the arrival room two days ago, it's unlikely anyone would have seen Allen around the city, or even at the Valhalla Inn. God knows what he's been up to, and he's not about to tell, but other boarders at the inn will see a new face joining them for breakfast this morning. He has traded his prisoner's garb for something more respectable ― a long-sleeved, high-collared shirt, dark gray vest over it, matching trousers, a tie knotted with practiced precision, and gloves. A little old-fashioned, perhaps, especially for one his apparent age, but well put together. Shame the same can't be said of his demeanour. His movements are laden with the stiff, creaking tension of the really bloody tired (but also really bloody obstinate), eyes bruised from lack of rest, the corners of his mouth frayed by stress lines. All of this is eclipsed by the way his entire face lights up when he's served. It just might explain why he eats so slowly in contrast, chewing well and pausing every few swallows, as though worried going too fast will make him throw up.

Once his plate's clean―almost spotlessly so―he heads straight for the inn's exit, pausing only to give the Burnworth pamphlets outside the main office an unreadable look. The rest of his morning is spent methodically exploring Mog Hill. By the time noon approaches, though, he's looking a lot less focused and a lot more baffled. It only gets worse with every corner turned, until he's left stranded somewhere in the outskirts of Bonetown, looking like he would really appreciate an adult. Instead of asking for directions, however, he turns to the sky, the gesture habitual enough to suggest he's looking for something that should be there, but isn't.

That's how he comes to notice the crows, and some mixed emotion makes his expression twinge ― that is, until one of the creatures take flight, revealing itself to be not quite... Right. And it's probably telling that the boy's first reaction is to frown and look around for other passersby, relaxing only when the street seems deserted of potential marks for the birds. Not that he has reason to suspect them, but he's not about to let his guard down after Balthier's talk of eelsharks. Shooting the creatures one last look, he turns, reluctantly, and starts backtracking. He thinks he's backtracking, at least. Who knows if he'll find his way back by nightfall. Probably not.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Quite fine." It takes more than some non-corporeal birds to put a dent in Hellboy. Glancing first at Nuala, Integra swings gracefully off her horse and goes to hook its reins to the back of the princess's saddle. It's motivated in part by the fact that, knight or not, Integra isn't so bold as to force this person to regard her on equal terms with royalty, and part that she does not trust this person. Surely, Princess Nuala could split his mind into neat pieces if he so much as looked at her funny, but there are roles even here to play.

"They're like as much to get worse," she observes about the crows, though her tone is mild. Up close, it's fare more apparent that her manner of dress and the things she carries are functional, meant to be used, and not carried for simple decoration. "How long have you been in Baedal?"

In light of this new information, Allen's on the verge of offering to see both women back to their residence, wherever it may be, when he's beaten to the draw again. His lips part on reflex, about to say something about how he can't possibly...

...Only to press shut. It would be rude of him to turn a princess' offer down, no matter his intentions. Besides, for Nuala to travel with a single escort when she's clearly aware of the threat those crows pose, both women must be confident of returning home unharrassed. Seeing Integra up close only reinforces his gut feeling that 'agents' or no, this is someone who can handle things by herself. And he does need directions back to the inn. Badly. Preferably heavily footnoted and accompanied by sketches of every landmark on the way, and even then, there's no guarantee he'll make it back without a guide. His sense of direction is just that terrible.

"Sorry for the trouble," He apologises instead as he falls into step beside Integra, close enough to Nuala's horse to say he appreciates the gesture, but taking care not to stray too close. "I'll be sure to make up for it if I ever get the chance. Not long at all, though I've gathered I should be settling down for a lengthy stay."

The taut line of his jaw says he'll be doing no such thing.

"This is my third day here."